Fingertips of Air
by call me ponyboy
Summary: It has been twenty some odd years before any Chagny had been in the Opera Garnier, but when the youngest of the sons sees a show, Erik, now rightfully a ghost, mistakes him for his father.
1. Chapter 1

Fingertips of Air

Chapter One

Twenty some odd years ago, when the third Chagny son was only days old, the Opera Garnier had reopened. It was several years after the fire and the marriage of Raoul and Christine. Even though it had been opened under the same management of Andre and Firmin, they had retired some years back and the new managers were a couple of Belgians that started to produce English plays.

None of the original cast had returned. Some claimed they were too scared of the Opera Ghost, though it was doubtful he was even still alive. Others said that they just didn't want to come back. But by that time, a good number of them had more important things to deal with. That is where Christine was. Having three children had left her plump and years without practice made her voice rough. Even if she could still sing, her duties as a mother wouldn't allow her to be at the theatre for that long.

For years, people had worried about the phantom coming back. But after years of absolutely no sign on him, the fear had waned drastically. Of course, there would always be that one person that would blame the ghost for a fallen sandbag, but nothing serious had happened. The fearsome Opera Ghost must be dead.

888

**The Chagny Estate**

The party that evening had been the talk of Paris for the better part of a month. It was well known that the Viscount spared no expense when it came to entertaining his guests and his beautiful wife was a wonderful hostess. It also wasn't too bad that her two available sons weren't bad to look at. The eldest one, Henry, was married the year before while the youngest just had his twenty first birthday, but it was well known that the middle son was by far the most attractive.

Emile often looked at his older brother with jealousy just for that fact. Philippe, named for their deceased uncle, was masculine, broad, everything that a woman would look for in a husband, not to even mention rich. Emile was a spitting image of his father, from his beautiful blue eyes to his fair hair and complexion. He didn't know how it was possible that he was the one to end up with such feminine features while his two older brothers were both ideal men. Oh, he knew that a few of the girls in the family's circle had their pretty eyes on him, but that didn't make him any less self conscious.

888

Many more people showed up than Emile had thought would and soon enough he found he was not as good as circulating the room as he should have been. Often, he ended up on the sidelines, watching people. Just as often, people would come and talk to him. Emile found he liked this arrangement and stopped attempting to be as wonderful as his mother.

While in the middle of the conversation with a very nice Dutch girl with a cute accent, an old man in a wheelchair approached him. Emile could not remember this man's name and was highly doubtful if he had ever met the man at all. The girl, upon seeing the old man, bowed out.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Chagny," The man greeted.

"Bonjour, monsieur. I'm sorry, but I don't believe we have met before," Emile admitted, bowing slightly to the seated man.

"Oh, in some way we have. You look exactly like your father used to. I used to employ your mother."

Ah, Emile thought, he must have been one of the infamous managers that are sometimes the butt of his parent's jokes. He knew nothing of the men, hardly their names, but he knew a good number of jokes about them.

"You're mother looks quite different now," the ex-manager went on, "I wonder how the Phantom would like her now." That caught Emile's attention.

"Excuse me, did you say Phantom?" Emile had never heard of any phantom before, but the man only wore a sly smile as he casually checked the grandfather clock near them.

"Merde," He said, slowly saying the swear and making Emile blush with such a casual use, "I should be getting home. You hurt one leg and your entire family thinks you need a sharp curfew. Please do tell your parents that Andre stopped by." He started to wheel away and Emile was quite impressed by his complete independence from the nurse that he had only just now seen lurking to the side.

"Wait!" Emile said, chasing after Andre, "You didn't tell me what you meant by Phantom!" He didn't care if he was making a scene, but it seemed as if the man hadn't heard him.

Following a man that could easily be lost in a crowd was one thing, but pushing through the crowd without being rude was something else. He knew that a few people were glaring at his back but he didn't particularly care. He was just hoping that he made it into the hall in time to catch Andre. He didn't.

Instead, he did catch his eldest brother emerging from the hall closet with a bushing waiter. He sighed, he knew his brothers tendencies but was really hoping that he would restrain himself during such a big gathering. Emile was happy that it was only him that caught Henry; he didn't want his wife to have to make another excuse for the father of the child she was carrying.

The young waiter saw him and the blush deepened. Emile only smiled as kindly as he could before he dismissed him and turned to his brother.

"Henry, really, at a time like this? Malory isn't even here to cover for you. You should just be happy that it was me that saw you and not Philippe. You know he would tell mother in an instant," Emile tried to scold his brother as best he could, but being a good few centimeters shorter was not working in his advantage. Besides, his older brother only smirked at him. He sighed again, but then remembered Andre. The man was gone by now, but maybe Henry would know something.

"In exchange for not telling mother, could you please help me with something Henry?" Emile asked, trying to keep his brother from walking into the ball room, knowing he wouldn't have a chance to talk in there.

"Absolutely, what is it?"

"Do you anything about mother and a phantom?" Henry's expression turned very serious very quickly.

"No," He said sharply, "I don't. Let's get back to the party." Emile did not miss the grim line his brothers mouth had been set in.

888

The party had been a success and Emile was quite tired by the time he had gone to bed, but he woke up early the next morning, not forgetting about this phantom that, as of yet, not been explained.

Breakfast is normally a quiet thing after such a big affair and it seemed as if the other members of his family were perfectly willing for it to be that way. Unfortunately for them, Emile had something else in mind.

"Mother," He asked before the family could even say grace, "what do you have to do with a phantom?"

What little conversation had been happening stopped in an instant.

"That is not appropriate breakfast conversation, Emile," Christine answered, "Father, would you please say grace?" Raoul was about to begin as his wife requested, but his son wouldn't allow it.

"This has something to do with the opera house, doesn't it? Monsieur Andre wouldn't have been the one to bring it up if it wasn't," Emile persisted.

"Andre was here?" Christine asked, looking shocked.

"Emile, stop, mother will have bad nerves if you don't," Philippe warned. Henry was sending him a very hard look and even the staff had stopped what they were doing to watch. The boy's father was with the staff in just watching.

"That's it isn't it? Why will no one tell me? I am an adult now!" Christine stood, violently pushing her chair backward to address her son.

"You will be silent! This matter was over long ago and I want my sons to have no part of it now!" She sat in a huff and once again demanded her husband to say grace.

888

"Thank you for coming with me, Malory," Emile said, helping his brother's wife out of the carriage. In front of them stood the marvelous Opera Garnier, all lit up for the show that evening.

"Um, it was my…uh…pleasure, Emile," English born and raised, Malory had some difficulties with her French and sometimes Emile swore her brother married her so that she wouldn't talk so much. Then again, Malory was quite clever and funny if you took the time to figure out what she is trying to say.

Walking inside, most people would have been greeted by the splendor and extravagance of the interior, it was obvious Malory did. Her eyes were as wide as her smile. But Emile was filled with dread. After a moment, he just chalked it up to openly disobeying his parents.

He wanted to allow himself to get swept away by the beauty of the place, it was his first time in there even though he had lived in Paris all his life, but the stupid feeling would just not go away.

The box that they were sharing was spacious and, before the show, they made a game to sit as far away from each other as possible. It was rather silly, but it was just simple fun that took Emile's mind off of his nagging mind. It just happened that when the show started, they were still far away from each other.

It was then that Emile got caught up and blown away. The opening number had his jaw stuck open in awe. Had his mother once been able to sing like that? He knew his and his brothers could not sing if their lives depended on it. He had no idea about his father.

During the second act, he and Malory sat comfortably next to each other again and were both enjoying the show when it suddenly got very cold in their box. Involuntarily, Emile shivered and wished he had dressed warmer. He tried to put his mind back to the show, but his dread feeling had come back, even stronger than before.

Malory seemed unaffected by the cold when he asked if she would like his jacket and she denied.

He wanted to ignore it and untied the knot that held his hair back to keep his neck warmer.

It didn't work and, not even moments later, the little hairs on the back of his neck stood up.

The air around him whispered in his ear "Viscount."


	2. Chapter 2

A.N. I am currently reading/watching/researching anything I can to make a smooth story that has elements from the Leroux book, the Webber play (which includes the 2004 movie), and others. My hope is that, no matter what material of Phantom of the Opera you are familiar with, it will be an easy and enjoyable story to read. If there is anything that you don't understand, do not be afraid to review or message me personally to point out the problem. Thank you for reading!

Chapter 2 

"Viscount"

Emile whipped his head around, searching for a reasonable source for the voice to come from. Malory had not said a word in a good hour and she knew better then to think that he was a viscount. There was nobody else in the box and he was beginning to think that he was crazy. Of course no one would ever say that to him, he must have been just imagining things.

But he could not be imagining the cold. It baffled him that Malory couldn't feel it, too. In an attempt to ignore it, he tried to turn his attention back to the performance. Those pesky little hairs would not go down, though. Emile could have sworn that he felt fingers grace the back of his neck and he tried to swat away whatever was there.

Okay Emile, he thought, don't get carried away. It must have been a bug. A small gust of air, perhaps.

He knew it wasn't a small breeze when the feeling settled on his nape. Emile stiffened, reasoning it was just his imagination. It had to be, there was no other explanation for it. It was also his imagination when whatever it was slid around to his throat.

What he knew he was not imagining is when it began to squeeze.

Then it suddenly didn't matter if it was his imagination or not because he couldn't breathe.

Simultaneously, he grasped Malory's shoulder and tried to grab at his throat. It was such a natural instinct, wanting to pull away whatever was there. He could feel something on his neck but he couldn't rip it off. Malory was looking at him in shock, hands reaching to help but not knowing what to do. Emile stood up, followed by Malory.

In a desperate attempt to get the thing to release him, Emile jerked, pulled, tugged, anything he could think of but nothing would stop it. Lack of air was getting to him and black spots started to pop in his vision. Struggling for any air, he gasped in vain. The black spots were getting bigger and longer until they would pop. He was lightheaded and didn't even realize that Malory had called out for help. He didn't realize that the show had stopped and somebody rushed into the room.

He didn't realize when he slipped into unconsciousness.

_There was a beautiful voice. Singing. _

_A flash of light, a candle maybe. _

_Then a quick bar of music._

_A crash. _

Emile was thrown out of whatever he was seeing by a sharp slap. Sitting up abruptly, he almost knocked his and Malory's heads together. He took a deep breath in and, although it was ragged, was relieved to find that he could in fact breathe. A man, one Emile had not met before, was kneeling by him, checking his pulse. It was only then that he realized that he was on the floor of his box. His cheek burned and he felt a driblet of water fall onto his shoulder. He wondered how long he had been out.

"Monsieur," Emile asked the man, knowing it would take too long with Malory, "how long have I been unconscious?"

"Only for a moment, maybe two, but the real question is what happened?" Emile didn't know the man and gave him a look that said he had no business to know. He turned to Malory and made sure she caught the look too.

"He is..." She paused, trying to think of the right word, "a doctor. You should tell him." Emile sighed, knowing how rude the look had been. But how was he supposed to explain what happened when he doesn't know himself?

"I was just being choked. There was no one here but Malory and myself, so I don't know how it was possible," Emile tried. It was all it was, so simple but so baffling at the same time.

888

The doctor ended up not being able to explain anything and the ride home was silent. Emile wondered if Malory was just about bursting with questions she wanted to ask but didn't know how to say them. Or maybe she just believed what he said. She had been there; she had seen that there was no one that could have been strangling him. But that is what it certainly felt like.

It wasn't so silent when they entered the estate though. His mother had been waiting just beyond the door, arms crossed over her bosom. Malory had made a quick escape, making an excuse that the baby was kicking, but Emile wasn't so lucky.

"And where have you been, Emile?" Christine demanded. To an ear that hasn't been accustomed to a mother, it would have thought that it was just an innocent question. But those that have, the sharp edge to her voice was frightening.

"I saw a performance with Malory," Emile explained, feeling very much like a little boy being scolded than a twenty one year old man.

"I told you to forget about the Phantom!" His mother was shouting now, drawing closer to her son only to have him back up.

"I didn't say I was going to see about the Phantom! I was just seeing a performance!" Emile tried to defend himself, knowing that it wasn't going to work.

"Emile, stay away from the opera house. It causes nothing but trouble." She said no more before she turned on her heel. Christine needed no confirmation, she just assumed that her son would obey.

He knew that he would too.

888

Checking the mirror just one more time, Emile searched for any sign that it happened at all, but there was nothing. No rope or hand marks, nor bruising, not even slight discoloration. He was beginning to think that it might have just been a bug that somehow lodged itself in his throat.

He knew that was ridiculous, no bug could choke a man enough to pass out, but at this point, he was willing to believe anything.

Glancing once more at his wall mirror, he slipped into bed and blew out the candle. Through the darkness, he could feel sleep coming, but it wasn't soon enough. It left him time to think, which probably wasn't so good for him.

What had he seen in his dream? It was all so blurry, all so quick. It meant nothing but Emile couldn't help but feel he should know what had happened.

As he slipped into sleep, he couldn't take his mind off of the one thing he knew had happened. That voice.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"_Bonjour, Viscount," a deep voice in the darkness drawled._

_Emile knew he was asleep, there was no other reason that he would be seated in a pool of light, surrounded by pitch black._

"_I am not the Viscount," Emile said. A whoosh of air blew past him as the voice spoke again._

"_It's been a long time since we last saw each other, hasn't it?" If he hadn't known any better, it sounded almost exactly like the whisper in the air right before he was choked._

"_I apologize, Monsieur, but I do not know who you are." It unnerved Emile when he heard a quiet chuckle that seemed to come from all around him. _

"_Of course you wouldn't, you silly fop. Even after all this time, you are still afraid of me," The voice had become menacing, leaving Emile feeling vulnerable inside his little bit of light. The voice came from everywhere. _

"_I am not the Viscount," Emile tried again, "My father is. I'm not even set to inherit the title."_

_There was a pause before the voice continued. _

"_Then explain how I was able to touch you."_

"_Pardon?" Emile asked._

"_I have been dead for thirty years. I have been an actual ghost for thirty years. But for the past thirty years, I haven't been able to touch anyone. Explain how I was able to almost kill you?"_

"_Monsieur, I don't know. I don't know you," Emile called into the darkness, hoping he would wake up._

"_You are his son, which means you must also be hers." The voice seemed to be thinking out loud. "I am unable to pass over; your family must be the reason why..."_

"_Pardon me, but what are you talking about?" Emile interrupted. He knew it was a dream, there was no other explanation, but that didn't mean he didn't want to know what was going on._

"_It seems that you are the person I have chosen to assist with my departure from this world."_

"_Excuse me?"_

"_I am your ghost now."_

888

Although it seemed like he had only been asleep for a few minutes, sunlight was peaking through Emile's curtains when he was jolted awake. It took him a moment to blink sleep away and he wondered if his dream would go away with it. Often, as with most people, Emile would forget his dreams the more he woke up no matter how hard he tried to hold on to it. This time, he was pleasantly surprised to find that the dream did not go away. What he found strange was that he could remember everything about it. That wasn't normal.

Trying to push thoughts of his dream away, he pushed back the covers got prepared for the day. Lord in heaven only knew how his mother would be today but, oddly enough, he didn't particularly care. As hard as he tried, he couldn't push all thoughts of his dream conversation away.

"I am your ghost now."

What could that have meant? From the tête-à-tête, Emile could easily see that the other was dead. It was also obvious that this person was a ghost. But why had he said that he was Emile's ghost now? Because he was able to touch him? That was just plain ridiculous.

As ridiculous as that was, Emile realized it was even more ridiculous to sit in his room and contemplate a dream that probably meant nothing.

888

Despite thinking that he woke just as the sun rose, it turned out that he had missed breakfast. Oy vey, Emile thought, mother must really be mad. Normally someone would wake him in time for breakfast.

Quietly tiptoeing down the main staircase, hoping that he would avoid any parental contact, he didn't make sure to look out for brothers. Philippe had just walked out of the drawing room just as Emile was only half way down. He knew he shouldn't have even tried to turn and run back up the stairs, he also knew he shouldn't have turned so quickly when Philippe said his name. But he did.

His mother may have once been a chorus girl, very graceful on her feet, but her son certainly didn't inherit that. Emile tripped, splaying his hands in front of him to catch himself. Philippe started to rush up the stairs in hopes of being able to help.

Emile didn't make it to the floor. He felt something wrap around his waist and hold him, preventing him to fall face-first down the stairs. Suspended in air, Emile didn't quite know what to do. Philippe had reached his side and helped Emile up all the way. On his feet again, Emile felt whatever was holding him release.

"Philippe," Emile said, addressing his brother, "you saw that, didn't you?"

"Yes," Philippe said, confusion as obvious in his voice as it was in Emile's.

"What just happened?" Although he knew Philippe was just as clueless as he was, Emile felt the need to ask.

"I have no idea."

Shaken, Emile looked to his brother, hoping that either one of them would come up with an explanation for what had just happened. After staring at each other for a few minutes, they just couldn't come up with anything. Emile thought that maybe he knew what had just happened, but his rational mind wouldn't allow him to voice it aloud. Ghost stories are fun to listen to, but ghost themselves just can't exist.

"Emile, maybe we should just ignore what happened," Philippe suggested. Emile looked into his brother's eyes, wishing that the other had come up with a reasonable explanation for him not falling. He knew that there was nothing short of magic that could have held him, but he would have been willing to believe anything.

"Yes, frère, maybe that is best."

Both men didn't notice their other brother appear on the landing above them.

"May I know what you are talking about?" Henry asked, leaning on the rail. Emile and Philippe knew that he didn't particularly care about what they were doing standing on one step, just staring at each other, but it was odd to see two full grown men doing so and probably wanted to know why.

"Emile almost fell," Philippe explained quickly. "Good thing I was right beside him or else he might have hurt his pretty little face."

Emile was nodding vigorously throughout the explanation, not even realizing when Philippe had said the last part.

Henry smirked, nodding slightly, thinking he had caught his brothers in some sort of devious act and walked away. Emile would have sighed with relief, but he realized that there was nothing to be relieved about. They had been doing nothing wrong. Maybe, he began to think, I am just relieved that no one else saw the oddity that had happened. It was even worse than being strangled yesterday, there was not even a bug to blame this one on.

"Could it have been a witch," Philippe said jokingly, starting to walk up the stairs, "casting a spell on the entire family, but it only affects the youngest son. Oh, just think of it, it would make a wonderful book."

"You know, you may be handsome on the outside, but on the inside you are nothing but air. There is no such thing as witches. You just want to write a book about them. Do it and quit spouting nonsense, please," Emile had this theory that Philippe just wanted to write, he was always coming up with the bare bones of a plot that was never elaborated on. Perhaps duties of their status had kept Philippe from doing so, but it upset Emile still. Then he realized it was silly to be upset about something he had no proof about.

But as soon as Philippe had reached the top of the stairs, it clicked in Emile's head. Maybe the dream wasn't exactly a dream. Maybe when he went back to sleep, he would be able to talk to 'his ghost' about it and get some answers. But he had just woken up, it would be impossible to go back to bed now, not to mention unacceptable.

Deciding to wait until after lunch to take a nap, he made his way to the kitchen to calm his stomach, which had just seem to come alive.

888

The time until lunch went by slowly, much too slow for his liking. He had run out of things to do, other than actively avoiding his mother who had seemed to be doing the same. There was still at least an hour left when he found himself in the library, staring at a shelf of novels that he had read already. He didn't dare look at the shelf of classic first editions that were so fragile, he was sure that they would crumble if he tried. Then a tiny book on the very end caught his attention. At first, he had just thought it was Dr. Faustus, it was small enough, but when he pulled it out, he hitched his breath.

**Modern and Theoretical Studies of the Paranormal**

It was just too convenient. He had been reading books from this library for years and had never seen this book. But so many unexplainable things had been happening to him in the past few days that he was willing to just let the book go under that category.

Emile had barely cracked open the cover when he was called for lunch. Setting the book down on a side table in a huff, he cursed the maid in his head. The door was just closing when a single gust of air blew the soft cover and several pages back, leaving it open at a particular page.


End file.
